


Like Apples

by epkitty



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Apples, Eavesdropping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth doesn't eat apples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Apples

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Intoxication](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2593) by Cassie Rhodes. 



Elizabeth Turner never ate apples. Not the green ones. She remembered why; she remembered that night quite clearly, though she never spoke of it to a single soul.

= = = = =

She woke.

Couldn’t say why, exactly. The motion of the ship was hardly unfamiliar. The sounds of the crew were distant, at worst. There was no reason for it.

Except that that crew was no ordinary men. That was a crew of dead men.

And she knew it, as surely as she knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west. They were cursed, and here she was, in the thick of it.

Elizabeth moved from the bed, naked feet noiseless on the ancient boards of the Black Pearl. The dress, though bulky and more than awkward to sleep in, wouldn’t be coming off soon if she had anything to say about it. The more layers she had, the better, even if these pirates posed no threat to her ‘gentle sex.’

She moved as any experienced sailor would, with the rise and dip of the vessel, sensitive to its pull and sway. She snuck nearer the door that separated the Captain’s bunk from the Captain’s cabin. The whole ship was well made; the door was thick, but there was -- of course -- a keyhole.

Slowly, fearful of the floor creaking with her shifting weight, the young woman sank to her knees, hands flat on the floor with the dress pooling around her in her pretty prison, the moon shining brightly even through the muddling glass windows.

Moving closer, Elizabeth knelt up to peer through the tiny slot, barely breathing from fright of what lay beyond.

There was a yellow light. Candles. They burned brightly in the room, windows shuttered against the moon.

The table was arrayed as before, mountains of food that she had eaten of and wine that she had drunk from.

And Barbossa, sitting morosely where she had sat, staring before him, at a bowl of crisp, green apples. She watched curiously for a long moment, finally realizing that his lips were moving. But so softly he spoke or so far was she that no sound could be heard.

Elizabeth shifted, arranging her layers as a cushion beneath her sensitive knees and turned to lay her ear aside the hole.

The words were distant, muffled, but she could still make them out.

“. . .curse to be sure. Life without life. Death without death. Nothing gives pleasure and nothing is all I have left. Don’t give me that look, mate. The Pirate’s Code is nothing but weakness for men like Jack Sparrow. He was a good captain, you know, a good sailor. But a terrible pirate. Pirates can’t afford weakness. And weakness Jack had in abundance. Never killed if he didn’t have to. Never troubled a lady nor child. As at ease with a battle of words as at one with swords. What kind of pirate is that, I ask you?”

The words ceased, no answer came, and Elizabeth nearly knocked her nose in, spinning her head as she did to again peer through the tiny keyhole. Barbossa sat as he had before, but he reached out now for one of those apples, the monkey blinking curiously at him from a dangling chandelier. So that’s whom he’d been talking to. He held up the shining, green fruit, held it to his nose, and spoke again.

She whipped her head around, placing her ear to the door.

“. . .compassion, I ask you? Ridiculous. He was a ridiculous pirate. But a great captain. Younger than I by half, and twice as bold. You know I only tell you cause I know you’ll keep me secret.”

She could hear the grin in his voice, and the inane chattering of the undead monkey.

“Dead monkeys tell no tales, eh?” The monkey chattered, as if offended. “Ach, be silent, or I’ll silence ye myself.” For a moment, all was quiet, but then the monkey softly squawked. If she didn’t know better, Elizabeth would have said it was asking a question. She was only vaguely surprised when Barbossa answered as if it had. “No need to bring that up,” he said gruffly. “Thought he was deader than I am, only to find he lives still. . . And he’s out for my blood, make no mistake.” The monkey made a clicking noise. “I know it’s my own bloody fault you wretched animal!” Elizabeth jumped at the crash that sounded, surprised at the outburst of violence. She didn’t look, but replaced her ear to the keyhole, hearing the tiny patter of feet and mad squawking of the monkey as dishes rolled about on the continuously shifting floor. “Ya damned coward, get back here.” A distant chattering sounded in the negative. “Get back here you thieving monkey! I ain’t finished talking yet!”

Silence reigned but for the usual sounds of a ship at sea and Elizabeth looked once more. Barbossa was just sitting down, as if he had risen to attack the creature and now sat back in exhaustion. Behind him, the monkey crawled forward uncertainly, as a kicked puppy returning to its master.  
 She listened once more.

“Or get on with yeh. I don’t fancy a miserable monkey for a confidant.” There was a rustling sound and a soft chatter. “Oh all right then.” Barbossa sighed, and Elizabeth wouldn’t be surprised to find, had she looked, a contrite monkey sitting on its captain’s shoulder. “Of all of us, you suffered needlessly, little wretch.” More rustling. “Oh, you like them as well do you? I like the color. Green, like the sky before storm.” Silence preceded a soft squelching noise, and she looked to see the monkey sitting atop the apple bowl, one of the apples in Barbossa’s hand, sliced neatly in half. The perfectly ripe fruit was indeed a sharp green, its flesh pearly white. Half of the apple thunked to the tabletop, but Barbossa held the other half to his nose. She wondered if he was only pretending to smell it. Clear juice ran down grimy fingers and hand and wrist to disappear beneath lacy-cuffed sleeves.

She turned just in time to catch the next words.

“Apples. Jack had no appreciation for apples. Gobbled them down by the barrelful, never savoring a bite. But always the green ones. Never the red.” Barbossa chuckled humorlessly. “He said the red reminded him of blood. Never ate red fruit, Jack Sparrow didn’t. Strange man, that pirate.”

Shivering at that oddly soft tone of voice, Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably on the wooden floor. When next he spoke, it was so soft that she held her breath, scarcely hearing him over the sound of her own heartbeat.

“But the green apples, those he ate. All the time, when he could get them. Smelled like apples did Jack.” He sighed. “Tasted like them too. Tasted like apples did Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Shivering continuously now, Elizabeth slunk back to the bed. She trembled as she crawled upon it, wrapping herself in her arms and in the great folds of the dress.

She did not sleep again that night, and paid now no heed to the murmurings of the undead pirate in the other room.

= = = = =

After that, Elizabeth Swann -- later Elizabeth Turner -- never ate apples. Not the green ones. And she never told anyone why.

= = = = =

The End


End file.
